The Apple Picker

I was of the trees
Hotly, fully, soot-soaked woman.

Bearing lips and knees
Slow feet sliding across night-cobbled streets
Through silty swamps and constellations;
Starkly naked in the drinking dark.

My blind steps straying off the course,
My lips: not braced for strike,
and saying all of the vulnerable things
To glasses of water, and thieves alike.

A white-hot bud of useless thunder rumpled loudly through me.
I was softly smoldering,
Before I gave birth to me:

I wandered, hips and knees and grace and and map-less, somehow,
Came to this place.

 

I have so many unwritten letters:
You could pluck me from a winter vine
And intertwine with me.
But if you leave me,
Warmly, fiercely free
I will grow
Into a glowing apple.

Silver Soul Surprise

Hold the bowl of your hips
mouthward, toward the moon

Howl out tenderness (Death is just a room)

Scrape stars from your lips
Sunrise: coming soon.

Dew drops drape your hips
Pull off your cocoon

give up your wolf kiss
To the fading night:
Perfect tender lips
Take up luscious light
Sky skims off the black,
Throws off starry shawl
moon lace at your back,
now you’re standing tall.

Stand up naked now:
Shake this world down right
ripple party-pray
At the fading night

Walk your own footsteps
String your own high-moon
Hold the dome of sky
read the sacred runes.

Thread the needle with this: liquid-love-desire.
Climb your homespun rope,
Let it take you higher.

Crawl back into this:
Wet earth,
mother dune:
whispering fierce and whole,
brown and bathed in moon.

Take your little home: breasts and teeth and bones
Bent armed praying tome
Slide slow back into
Womb-dune torn with tombs

Look death in her eyes;
darkness always looms

Find yourself within:
Holy
Body room
house of skin and hips
Tender temple boom
Soul that tears and rips;
Heart that calls and Blooms.